


i'm going back to the start

by softestlesbian



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 21:59:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6442540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestlesbian/pseuds/softestlesbian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry holds up one end of the bed, lifting it off of Louis. “Did you break your bed?” he asks, more than a little amused.</p>
<p>“I tried to shove it over!” Louis says, voice strained as he wiggles his way out from under the bed. “It’s all right, I’ll get another one delivered in the next few days,” he says. “And until then I’ll sleep on the couch, it’s fine.”</p>
<p>“That’s stupid,” Harry insists, sitting back on his heels though the ground is dusty. “The point of moving into a flat like this was so you wouldn’t have to sleep in uncomfortable places anymore, wasn’t it?” He sets the bed down carefully when Louis makes it out from under.</p>
<p>Louis shrugs, leaning against the frame of the bed. “Suppose,” he says, “but I don’t mind, really. I don’t want to stay with my mum just yet, I need a bit of, like – space to myself, I think.”</p>
<p>Well. Harry’s tentative to actually say it, but, “It’s not too much space in the way you mean it but my bed’s definitely big enough for the two of us to share, if you’d like.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>On the break, Harry and Louis move in together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm going back to the start

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU ANI FOR READING THIS OVER AND ENCOURAGING ME
> 
> disclaimer: this isn't true, title is from "the scientist" by coldplay. 
> 
> i'm on tumblr @llucifered and twitter@llucifered also
> 
> <3333

Harry drops the last of his boxes into his room, listening to Louis move around the rest of the flat. All that has been unpacked are his sheets and the pictures he’s putting up on his walls, sitting across the dresser Nick gave him for just this occasion.

He sits down on the edge of the bed. It’s ridiculously large, would have taken up his entire room back at his house in Cheshire (and at least half of the room that they had shared on X-Factor; thinking about it makes his heart ache a little). He’s moved so far, and in the end he’s come back to the beginning, to living with his Louis again.

His phone chimes on the bed next to him and he jumps, fumbling for it. It’s just Nick, asking if he’d like to get dinner sometime next weekend. Now that they’re actually on a break, he’s determined to see the people he loves more often than just once every few months. And Louis, he supposes, Louis he’ll be seeing every day, though that hardly feels different.

He responds positively and makes himself get up, rubbing his hands on his thighs and putting his phone in his back pocket. “Louis!” he calls, as he can’t tell where Louis is in the flat. Everything is too empty and his voice echoes off the bare walls. It just doesn’t feel like  _ home _ yet, much as he wants it to. It feels strange, having a stable place that he’ll be in for the foreseeable future. He’s hopeful about it, but it’s still… strange.

“In my room!” Louis yells back. “Shit, can you come here?”

Harry walks over the loads of boxes they’ve just brought inside. It’s highly unlikely that either of them are going to get these unpacked within the first week or so, and he curses when he trips over a box of what he thinks is china judging by the loud sound it makes as it slides across the floor.

Louis is under his bed, legs poking out of one end. “Harry?” he asks hopefully.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Harry says, getting down onto his knees and looking under the bed. “Are you okay?”

“I seem to have gotten m’self a little stuck,” Louis says, wiggling his legs. “Can you – shit, will you hold the bed up? I’m afraid I’ll get smashed.”

He holds up one end of the bed, lifting it off of Louis. “Did you break your bed?” he asks, more than a little amused.

“I tried to shove it over!” Louis says, voice strained as he wiggles his way out from under the bed. “It’s all right, I’ll get another one delivered in the next few days,” he says. “And until then I’ll sleep on the couch, it’s fine.”

“That’s stupid,” Harry insists, sitting back on his heels though the ground is dusty. “The point of moving into a flat like this was so you wouldn’t have to sleep in uncomfortable places anymore, wasn’t it?” He sets the bed down carefully when Louis makes it out from under.

Louis shrugs, leaning against the frame of the bed. “Suppose,” he says, “but I don’t mind, really. I don’t want to stay with my mum just yet, I need a bit of, like – space to myself, I think.”

Well. Harry’s tentative to actually say it, but, “It’s not too much space in the way you mean it but my bed’s definitely big enough for the two of us to share, if you’d like.” He wouldn’t have thought twice about it before the past year or so, but everything has been strained between all of them; Louis has drifted a little from all of them except Liam. It’s been too much, the constant touring, and Harry hasn’t fallen asleep with him in – fuck, ages.

Which hasn’t been entirely bad. He wouldn’t have trusted himself to sleep with him and not try something, these past few months. He isn’t sure he trusts himself now. It just feels as though he’s running out of chances to say something, do something, and that Louis will be gone before he manages to make himself try.

Louis is giving him a look but Harry keeps his face even. He’s just offering out of the kindness of his heart, just doing a favor for a friend. “That’d be alright, yeah, I guess,” Louis finally says. “I mean, your bed is fucking giant, it isn’t as though – well.”

Harry can pretty well fill in the blank of what he was going to say,  _ it isn’t as though we’d have to cuddle _ , and the thought makes him sadder than it should. “Yeah,” he says before he can do anything stupid like complain about how he’s lost him, reaching out to squeeze his leg before he stands back up, knees cracking. “I’m gonna run out to the shops, get something for dinner, text me if you can think of anything else you’d like me to grab.”

“Get me some crisps, we haven’t got any,” Louis calls after him as Harry steps outside, jamming a beanie on his head when the wall of cold hits him. He’s spent too much time in LA, he still feels like he’s being smacked in the face with this  bloody weather.

It’s late by now and they live close enough to the store that he decides to have a walk, hands jammed in his pockets and head tilted down. He and Louis have done their very best to keep their location a secret but there have been rumors. Of course there have been; the people that love them do so with a strength that he hasn’t seen repeated for any other celebrity, for better and for worse.

He’s only stopped once on his way to the store, a young girl who’s clearly just stumbled across him, and he leaves before he can get pulled into a conversation with her; he’s starving, hasn’t had anything to eat since the farewell lunch the four of them had eaten before he and Louis had taken off.

He makes it back to their house, bags in tow, within the half hour. “I'm home!” he calls into the doorway, walking to the kitchen and putting everything away. Everything feels the same as it did before, though everything (not least of which their actual location) is different. 

“I'm in your room,” Louis calls back, and after a second he heads into the kitchen as well. He's changed and showered by now, joggers and a hoodie that's damp where his hair has curled against it. “What are we having tonight?” he asks him, leaning against the doorframe. 

God, Harry hasn't cooked for just him in so long. “Tacos,” he tells him, hardly looking over for how nervous he is. All of a sudden, even. 

Louis hums happily, hopping up onto a part of the counter where Harry hasn’t set any of his things. “Sounds delicious,” he tells him, grinning. It looks fake, but it’s better than the way they’ve tiptoed around each other for the last few months.

“Any requests for dessert? I picked up some ice cream, was thinking of making biscuits as well,” he says, turning on the oven and waiting for it to heat up, leaning against the counter opposite Louis. 

“Nah, biscuits sound great. Mum gave me some wine as a housewarming gift as well and I think there are some candles in my bag, could make a proper night of it,” Louis offers, grinning. “Don’t have the telly set up yet but we can watch a film on my laptop.” 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Harry says, smiling wider at that. The oven chirps and he sets out the taco shells on a cookie sheet, setting them inside while he gets everything else set up. It’ll only take a few minutes at this rate and he focuses more on the food than the fact that Louis is in the room with him. 

Harry plates up the food for them while Louis pours them both a glass of wine, setting them on the coffee table as they don’t have any furniture for the kitchen yet. “We could start watching something now,” he offers, sitting down and spreading a napkin across his lap. 

“Harold! I’m offended,” Louis says, plopping down next to him with his stupid grin on. They’re not as close, physically, as they might have sat once but they’re closer than they usually sit these days. “I would’ve thought you’d want to talk to me, not stare at a screen.”

Harry laughs at that, dropping his chin forward and shaking his head. “Yeah, fine,” he says. “What would you like to talk about, then?”

Louis looks away from him quickly, fussing with his food for a second. “Dunno. Anything, really,” he says. “You planning on seeing any of your mates now that you’re back in England, full-time?”

“Well, I still have my place in LA,” Harry considers, taking a sip of wine. “But -- yeah, I think I’m seeing Nick this weekend. And I’m going to go to my mum’s soon, but for the rest of the week… dunno, I think I just want to stay around here. Get everything together. Have some time off.” He shrugs. He feels very silly but he wants some time to just… be by himself. Or by Louis, as it stands.

“You’re not planning on fucking off to America now that the lease is signed, are you?” Louis asks, tilting his head and looking at him, chewing as determinedly as one can chew. 

“No! I just might go visit. We have got eighteen months off, you know? Might want to take a vacation there.” 

“You may have to drag me along with you,” Louis tells him, looking away from him again, fingers light on his wine glass. “I’ve gotten used to being around you lot for the past five years, think I might go a bit mad if I had to spend all that time alone.” 

Harry blushes at that, nodding and setting his empty plate on the table in front of him. “Yeah, you can come,” he tells him. “Got three or four empty rooms in there.” Louis hasn’t ever been to his place, he realizes with a small amount of sadness. 

“Yeah,” Louis says. He sounds sad, too, but Harry might be projecting; he does that a lot, feels things too intensely and pushes those feelings onto others. 

“What about you?” Harry asks after only a couple seconds of silence. He doesn’t want to let this lapse into anything melancholy. He doesn’t think he could take that right now. “You gonna spend all your time away from the flat?”

“Nah,” Louis says, sighing out, slow. “Rather stick around here. I need a break too, you know? Need some time to relax.” 

“Never thought I’d hear you say it,” Harry teases, nudging him with his elbow. “Life finally gotten too fast for you?”

“Oh, fuck off. I haven’t been partying that much,” Louis tells him, closing his eyes and leaning back, glass of wine in hand. 

_ You have _ , Harry thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud. It isn’t as though he hasn’t been going out just as much, and anyway fighting about it isn’t going to do anything but cause unpleasantness. He just shrugs and tugs his legs up and under him, sighing slowly. 

“Would you like to watch something now?” Louis asks after a minute, voice slow and sleepy. 

Harry laughs, blinking at him. “Sounds like you’d rather go to bed than stay up and watch something.”

Louis hums, shifting so that his legs are out in front of him, resting on the coffee table. “Either way I’m just going to fall asleep on you,” he tells him, voice very serious. “So it doesn’t much matter to me.”

“Hmm,” Harry considers, drawing it out.”Let’s do that, then. But this couch -- it’s very uncomfortable,” he points out, wrinkling his nose. “Should we head to the bed, do you think? That way I won’t have to carry you to bed later,” he teases, finishing off his wine and setting the glass down. 

Louis glares at him but it doesn’t last; he only manages it for a few seconds before he laughs, says, “Yeah, absolutely. I’ll let you pick the movie, even.”

“Oooh, tonight is a big night,” Harry says. He can’t stop smiling, god, and every time he thinks about it he only ends up smiling more.

“You’d better enjoy it while it lasts, all right?” Louis says, giving him a very stern look. “I’m picking the film tomorrow night.”

“Oh, does that mean I’m making dinner for us tomorrow then, too?” Harry asks him, giving him a mock glare. 

“Unless you really want me to order in, but I know how much of a stickler for health you are,” Louis murmurs, smiling at him. 

Harry makes a face at him. “Listen. If we order a pizza tomorrow night, will you promise not to tell anyone? I have my reputation to think of, but… I’ve been thinking of going off my regimen for a while. That’s what the break is for, isn’t it?”

“Ooh, a bad boy,” Louis teases, nudging him with his elbow. “Come on. We can decide that tomorrow, yeah? I’m desperate for a nap.”

“Think at this point it’s not quite a nap,” Harry teases, smiling. “But yeah, come on. Grab your laptop and I’ll get into my pajamas, okay?” 

They go off to grab them, and Harry climbs into bed, pulling the covers up and over him. He waits for Louis, heart absolutely pounding in his chest. 

Louis comes in with his laptop and the power cord, smiling at him. “Hi,” he whispers, climbing into bed in front of him and setting it up. “I know you prefer sleeping in front, but I won’t ever be able to see the film with your hair in the way,” he teases, lying on his back and grinning at him. 

Harry has possibly never been this comfortable. He gets an arm around him and murmurs, “That’s fine, love.” 

Louis presses back against him, back against his chest. He lets Harry choose the movie, and he picks a romantic comedy that he’s seen at least five times and will probably fall asleep halfway through. 

Harry gets an arm around him, resting his chin on his shoulder. It’s so easy to fall back into this habit with him, and he lets himself think that maybe this won’t be too hard, maybe they can get back to what they used to be. Best mates, he thinks, and his stomach flips at the thought. 

Louis settles against him and mumbles, “You’re like a fucking furnace.”

Harry goes stiff, asks, “Do -- would you like me to move?”

“No,” Louis says quickly, more quickly than he necessarily needs to. Harry hopes he isn’t projecting, that this feels as momentous for Louis as it does for him.

Harry stays where he is, smiling against Louis’s hair and settling in to watch the movie. His heart is beating more quickly than it usually does, but he can’t bring himself to pull back and maybe slow it down. 

Louis falls asleep within a few minutes. Harry stays awake for a little bit longer, holding him close and listening to his breathing more than he’s paying attention to the movie, if he’s totally honest. 

He drifts off just a little bit after that, face buried against Louis’s hair and arm tight around him.

*

In the morning, Harry wakes up first. 

It isn’t a surprise; he’s always been an early riser and Louis has always been the one who needs the most recovery time after their tours. 

He climbs out of bed and pads his way to the kitchen, putting on a pot of water for tea and making himself some breakfast, just eggs and toast for now as they don’t have anything else. 

He sits down at the table, making a list of everything he wants to get for their flat. Louis probably won’t want to come with him to get the furniture, but that’s all right. Harry likes the calm of it and by this point he has a good idea of what Louis likes in terms of decoration style. 

He’s thinking about lunch by the time Louis gets up, rubbing his eyes as he walks out of Harry’s room. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, blinking at him. “Good morning.”

“Morning!” Harry says cheerfully. “There’s water on for tea, I can make you a mug if you’d like.”

“You’re cheerful,” Louis mumbles, a little pouty. “I don’t like it.”

“Will you like it if I make you breakfast?” Harry offers. “And tell you that I’m going to buy some of the furniture today?” 

Louis laughs, still rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, absolutely,” he says.

“Go, go. Sit on the couch,” Harry tells him, getting up and very gently pushing him out of the way. He makes Louis his tea and the same breakfast he made himself, going to sit with him on the couch afterward. 

“Thank you, love,” Louis says, stretching out his legs so they’re in Harry’s lap. He grins at him. “So you’re buying us furniture today? Proper domestic, aren’t you?”

Harry laughs. “Want it to feel like home as soon as possible, yeah? I’ll show you everything I buy if you like.”

Louis wrinkles his nose, shaking his head. “Nah. I trust your judgment. Just nothing in neon, all right? I saw that thing you bought for Nick.” 

“I promise,” Harry insists. “You’ll love it all.” 

Louis grins at him, wiggling his toes and pressing them against his thigh. “I’m sure I will. You know my tastes, don’t you?”

Harry squeezes his leg, patting it after a second. “I like to think I do,” he says. He looks at him, and there are a few sentences on the tip of his tongue, about how once he’d known him and now he’s nervous that he doesn’t -- but. He knows him now, and that’s all that matters. 

Louis looks at him, mouth working for a second, but he doesn’t say anything, just stays quiet and keeps eating his breakfast. 

*

Harry goes to the store before Louis is done with his breakfast. If he stays there any longer, he’s afraid he’s going to do something stupid like try to kiss him, ask him why he never tried anything. 

He walks, again, figures he can get everything on order. There are a few nice antique places nearby and he’s pretty sure they’ll have everything he wants; at least, they’ll have a table and chairs, a dresser for him if not for Louis. 

He spends a couple of hours doing just that, texting Louis,  _ on my way back xx _ when he’s through. He stops at the store to grab just a few things, breakfast for tomorrow and a few things for lunch. 

He walks inside and says, “Louis?” into the flat, bags in tow. He kicks off his shoes, stepping inside. “Hey, Lou? I brought -- well, I didn’t get anything for dinner, but I figured you were serious about the pizza.”

Silence.

“Louis?”

“I’m -- in your bedroom!” Louis calls. “Just a second, please.” 

Harry puts everything away, keeping an ear out for Louis. He very much hopes he hasn’t gone and broken his bed as well; they don’t need to share the couch. As much fun as that would be, being pressed so close, it would be terrible for both of their backs. 

“All right, come here, Haz,” Louis calls. 

Harry heads to his bedroom, pushing the door open. “Have you got yourself stuck somewhere?” he starts to ask, but the words get stuck in his throat.

Louis is sitting on the edge of the bed, box of chocolates -- at least, Harry thinks they’re chocolates, they’re in a heart shaped red box with plastic on them -- in his hand and flowers on the pillow.

“Louis?” Harry asks, voice breaking a little. He clears his throat, trying to think of any outcome other than the obvious.

Louis gets up, messing with the plastic on the chocolate. “Um,” he starts. “So, I -- I haven’t always been there over the past -- however long. But I know that I -- I want to be there for you. And I think that if there’s any time to try, if you want to try, it’s now, yeah? When there’s no pressure on either of us to be anything but ourselves.” He takes a slow breath, and Harry takes a couple of steps closer. “And if you’re not interested that’s fine, I won’t push it. But I --” He breaks off, steadying himself. “I’m crazy about you, Haz,” he tells him, shaking his head. 

Harry doesn’t let him say anything else. He hurries forward and wraps him up in a hug, pressing his face against his shoulder. 

Louis clears his throat. “Is this a commiseration hug, or…?”

“No,” Harry breathes. “This is a hug for -- fuck. It’s an  _ I’m crazy about you, too _ hug.” 

Louis is quiet for a second. “Oh,” he finally says.

“I mean it, I am,” Harry mumbles. 

Louis finally hugs him back, arms tight around his waist. “Shit.”

“Can’t believe you got me flowers,” Harry mumbles, shaking his head. 

“You tell anyone, and…” Louis breaks off. “Fuck. Was going to say I’d deny it for a thousand years but I think I’d just be pleased you wanted to tell anyone else, if I’m honest.”

Harry laughs, breathless. “Oh, god, you’re going to make me cry.”

Louis pulls away, looking at him. “I mean it,” he tells him. “I don’t think I’ve been entirely fair to you, always, but I’ve always… always wanted to try. I just -- now I feel like we have a chance and I want -- want to date you. In whatever form that takes,” he finishes, looking more nervous than Harry can remember him having looked in ages. 

“Date me, then,” Harry tells him, quiet and eager. He looks at his mouth, stepping close enough that they’re pressed together. “Be with me.”

Louis looks shell-shocked. “You want to?”

Harry nods, fast. “I’ve been crazy about you since I met you,” he mumbles. “Been… been in love with you for years.”

Louis closes his eyes, going quiet.

“Was that too much?” Harry asks, heart skipping a beat. “I’m sorry, I --”

“It wasn’t too much,” Louis says, shaking his head, sharp. “I love you too -- obviously I love you, don’t know how anyone could know you and not -- I just. I didn’t think I’d ever get to have this.”

Harry has a thousand more things to say, things about how easy to love Louis is, but he doesn’t say any of them. 

He kisses him instead, one hand cupping his cheek and the other low on his back. It’s a gentle kiss -- not their first, they’ve shared a few drunk snogs before, but this is their first with intent, with care. 

Louis pulls back after a second to breathe, whispers, “Fuck, Harry,” and kisses him again, eager, desperate. 

Harry pulls him close, and lets them fall into place, kissing him harder and letting a quiet, desperate sound escape.

Maybe, he thinks as Louis pushes him onto the bed, straddles his waist -- maybe they won’t need that second room.


End file.
